by Peter Repton
‘Fair enough Sir, I will do it now,’ Wilson replied realising that it was the first time that the senior man had called him by his first name. Ford was as shocked as he was. Letting his barriers fall. Wilson recalled that Ford mentioned in the past having a daughter of his own, a girl in her twenties named Tanya. Wilson was surprised to be on surveillance duties given his rank of Sergeant. He appreciated that Ford wanted someone he could trust in charge of this job. Kempston was the prime suspect.
Wilson was taking Paul Roberts with him. Robert’s, a likeable young DC who was always cheerful and had an amusing ability to find some humour in any situation. This ability of Robert’s made a difficult job much easier and the time would also pass much quicker. He decided to phone him now.
Andrew didn’t know that a crunch football match was due to take place the next day. He also had no idea that Robert's excitement and constant banter would drive him crazy.
6
It was Sunday evening his rota day off. Paul Roberts was relaxing at home drinking a bottle of Peroni beer. He was watching the weekly news round up on CNN television. He was not interested in world affairs or politics. Paul preferred National Geographic or the History Channel. Paul felt the current Geo-political climate was extremely hostile.
His sole reason for watching this current events program, even though it was American, was that he fancied the lady presenter, a busty blonde named Sheila Godson. She always presented the Sunday evening round-up of the weekly news. Paul rarely missed it, even if the bias skewed to the USA's viewpoint of world affairs.
Sheila narrated the footage of the global situation with her distinctive New York dialect.
‘The war in Syria made millions of refugees flood into Europe, destabilising their economies. Battles are raging between rival Muslim factions in Iran. The desire for freedom and democracy continue to spread throughout the Middle East. Iran is also suspected of still developing nuclear weapons via its uranium enrichment program, despite continued threats from the United Nations. Iran claims the UN acts as a proxy for the Western superpowers and it is a puppet of the imperialist American's and Jews. Paul grabbed another bottle of beer. Footage ran of Iranian civilians in crazed mobs, burning the stars and stripes in the streets of Tehran. The cameras returned to Sheila sat behind the CNN news desk in the New York studio. She continued with her story as Paul marvelled at her impressive cleavage, enhanced by the tight black satin top, she was sporting.
Paul noticed she wore a gold crucifix pointing down towards her cleavage that suggested to him she was saying,
‘Hey look, here are my tits!’ Sheila smiled at the camera and said.
‘The world economy is slowing of late as consumers took on too much debt during the prior period of low-interest rates. Falling sales have led to growing economic isolation. The British have already triggered Article 50 and are leaving the European Union. A deepening second recession in the West is with us. The dreaded double dip has arrived. We are falling into a full blown depression.
Over the last three decades, China has now emerged as a superpower. China's manufacturing production output is closing on the United States rapidly.’ Sheila Godson now stood up from behind the desk. She walked over to a full wall display at the back of the studio. Paul stared at her slender silky thighs that protruded from the lemon yellow skirt. Cut four inches above the knee that she wore so well with her matching lemon high heels. Sheila smiled turning back to the camera. She pointed to two thick wavy black lines in eastern Siberia on the map, continuing her theme.
‘The Russian’s are supplying the Chinese with the raw materials they need, increasing their oil output through their new Siberian pipelines here. This new world order is creating a significant global divide. Both the Russian bear and the Chinese dragon are now in a firm alliance. They are using this new wealth to build up their armed forces with sophisticated weaponry. Both the Russian and Chinese navy are conducting joint naval exercises in the South China Sea. It seems to some respected observers that a whole new world arms race is underway.
After the quiet calm and relative safety of the post-cold war period, the Soviets lost control. Communism changed into with what looked to be at first hand a democracy. These observers now say that perhaps the Reds were still under the bed the whole time. The Russian's have forged close links with the People’s Republic of China. The Chinese are building military bases in the South China Sea.’
Paul smiled as Miss Godson flicked her long hair over her shoulder. Stepping towards the camera for a close-up now, Paul saw her teeth were a surreal white, this close up he noticed what a babe she was.
The camera just showed Sheila's head and shoulders and then panned out a little. Paul thought the news director saw that in close-up Sheila’s cleavage was missing from the shot.
‘What a bloody good bloke he is,’ he said to himself. Sheila now turned from the camera, moving with swaying hips like a catwalk fashion model to another wall map, this time of the Middle East. Sheila was pointing to a specific area with her long elegant forefinger tipped with a scarlet-painted fingernail. Paul was captivated by her immense aura of sexuality.
‘Wow, she is fitter than most Playboy centrefolds.’ Sheila continued.
‘The Russian’s and Chinese fear a full-scale invasion of Iran by the West. The Iranian's are now believed to be preparing to test their first nuclear weapon. International tension is immense as the world holds its breath. Waiting to see if the US/UK coalition will join up with the Saudi's to attack Iran.’ Sheila smiled a sexy smile. The show cut to a commercial break.
Paul only put the television on in the first place waiting for news of which team Liverpool would field. The big clash is tomorrow evening against Manchester United. The Liverpool squad had a few injured players who were doubtful to start the match. A late fitness test would determine if their star striker could play or not. Paul jumped when his cell phone rang. Wondering who would be calling him at home on his day of rest. He picked it up seeing it was DS Andrew Wilson calling. Hitting the answer button, he said.
‘Hello, this is Paul Roberts here, town fanny magnet and sex god. Who is calling the policeman with passion in his pants?’ It was the tension in Sergeant Wilson’s voice which caught his attention immediately. Wilson said coldly,
‘Roberts, I need your arse over at the station now. Most of Nurse Kerry Harrison is no longer missing.’
7
The Prowler knew a security light, fitted with movement sensors is above the patio doors. The Prowler climbed over the neighbouring property’s seven-foot high wooden fence to avoid it. Creeping down along this divide to the space between the adjacent houses, he jumped over it out of sight of the detector.
Feeling much more secure here in the shadows, he relaxed a little. Although the moon tonight was starting to wane from its fullest of four nights previous it was not visible behind the thick mass of dense rain clouds. He almost felt their weight on his shoulders. This beneficial darkness gave him comfort. He reached out with his right arm, around the corner of the building. He knew he was close enough to the sliding glass patio door so that the sensor would not be able to pick him up. This sensor had a blind spot for up to almost two feet away from the wall. Its setting was aimed to detect intruders approaching the door from the front. From a much greater distance
During the second commercial break in the game show, Sarah, the lone female occupier of the house, decided to make herself a cup of tea. Moving out of her spacious lounge into a well-lit elegant hallway on route to the kitchen to boil the kettle, Sarah jumped with surprise at an unusual sound. It was a soft sort of tapping noise that seemed to be coming from behind her right shoulder. So she turned her head around she tried to concentrate on its precise origin.
Behind her through a closed door to the right, there was a room only used for entertaining guests. She heard the tapping again, louder this time. It was coming from in there. This strange sound frightened her tonight, as she was alone in the house. Sarah was nervous an
d vulnerable on her own.
She remembered that sometimes in this particular room. The individual thermostat that controlled the central heating radiator would make a knocking noise, just before it reached the optimum temperature. This valve seemed undecided whether it should be open or closed. It alternated between opening and closing, one after the other, and knocking as it did so.
Sarah made the decision to look inside. Her intuition told her that this sound was not the same sound as the radiator usually made. She turned off the light in the hallway as a precaution before opening the door to the room. Not wishing to be silhouetted against the bright light behind her.
Opening the door, pushing it away at arm’s length, she tilted her head and peered inside. The only light entering came through the large glass patio doors. In here the curtains were left open except if occupied in the evening. Some seconds passed for her eyes to adjust to the reduced light. She could just make out the shape of the pool table, which dominated this room. The only other furnishings were a sofa and a glass-fronted refrigerator; this was usually full up with cans of beer, wine and bottles of alcoholic fruit cocktails. This room used for parties featured a green tiled floor instead of a carpet, to prevent any damage by intoxicated revellers.
Stepping inside, she paused and listened. The only sound she heard was her own heart thumping in her chest and the wind howling outside. Sarah froze as rigid as a marble statue as soon as the noise occurred again. Something was knocking on the patio door. She moved step by step nearer to the door, believing that she was safe and secure in this large house. She pulled the blinds aside with her hand, peering outside to identify the cause of the disturbance.
A man’s face appeared and pressed itself hard against the wet glass. It shocked her so much she screamed out aloud. Blind panic seized her, and although her instincts were to turn and run, she froze with fear. A jagged bolt of lightning exploded in the sky beyond the window. Transforming the scene to a crazy, surreal purple panorama of clouds and swaying trees. It also lit up the face, which pressed so tight against the glass the pressure deformed his features.
It was a man. The man was soaking wet with an unkempt appearance and messy hair. He looked filthy and possessed a desperate, haunted look in his deep-set hooded eyes. It was the face of a crazed maniac.
8
‘Yes, they have scored again!’ yelled Paul Roberts at the top of his voice almost deafening Wilson sitting next to him.
‘We are going to beat these bastards now for sure!’ Paul added with a huge grin on his freckled face. Liverpool Football Club had just scored a spectacular second goal against arch-rivals Manchester United. They were playing away from home at the famous Old Trafford stadium. It promised to be one of the most competitive matches of the season. Both teams were level on points near the top of the league table after a great battle throughout the year. The winners of this particular match were likely to be crowned league champions. ‘I have dreamed of this moment for bloody years,’ Roberts raved.
‘To give some pain back to Manchester United, the team I hate the most will be absolutely fucking fabulous,’ he added with almost delirious delight. Detective Constable Paul Roberts was a Liverpool supporter even before he was born. It was his true destiny, and in the genes, Paul inherited from his father.
His grandfather, an Irish Catholic working at the Liverpool docks supported Liverpool. Before forty years of smoking Capstan full strength’s killed him. Paul was wearing the traditional red football strip of Liverpool as a tiny baby before he could walk. His bedroom while growing up as a lad adorned with Liverpool wallpaper. He had a Duvet cover and matching table lamp and football posters of the top star on his bedroom walls. Not that he even knew anything about football back in those early days. It was all just part of the passion that went with his whole family supporting the club.
Paul Robert’s was now aged twenty-four, and still loved his football. Standing just five feet seven inches tall and weighing in at about one hundred and seventy pounds, Paul made up for his small stature by the amount of happiness he radiated. Paul never seemed to have a care in the world and was a clown, an eternal child in Peter Pan mode. Determined never to grow up, he was the life and soul of any party and always a joy to be around.
His colleague D S Andrew Wilson looked across the car at Paul. Noticing his spiky gelled ginger hair now laid plastered flat against his skull, framing his round, chubby face. Wilson looked into Paul's turquoise eyes set above high cheekbones and said to him.
‘Okay, Paul it sounds like they are going to win now. But, it’s time for you went back out there on the job. The prime suspect may show up now. We may miss him because you wanted to listen to this football match on the radio. We will both be getting a big kick up the arse if we do. Now get yourself back out there.’
‘For Christ’s sake Andy, give me a break,’ Paul moaned.
‘I was out there last night in this pissing rain without even a sign of this guy.’ Paul hesitated again before pleading.
‘We are not sure if he will turn up here tonight either. You know this game is important to me.’
Wilson was the exact opposite of Paul Robert’s. He was thirty-six, standing a full six foot three inches tall, with powerful shoulders and weighing in at a hefty two hundred pounds. He was usually reticent and severe, and always appeared cool, calm and collected. Wilson possessed a fierce and explosive temper and needed much of his self-discipline to control it.
Wilson was handsome in a rugged kind of a way, with a firm square jaw and long sideburns. He usually sported at least four days of stubble growth. His eyes were large and a sea-green that shone with intelligence. Wilson kept his jet black hair close-cropped. His nose gave away his aggressive past having gotten it broken twice. It twisted to one side now, the result of earlier amateur boxing bouts in the British Army. Wilson once was the Lincolnshire regiment’s champion and he looked like Vinny Jones, the actor.
Unlike Robert’s, who was always well dressed in trendy designer clothes, Wilson looked the typical outdoor type, with his deep tanned, weathered skin.
He had permanent dark shadows under his eyes. Wilson often took his shirt off without much of an excuse. He loved to display his broad hairy chest and well-defined muscles. But, personal hygiene was not high on his list of priorities. He stank of stale sweat from his last workout taken just before tonight's shift. Wilson did know how much football meant to Paul. Especially this crunch game, but they still had their job to do. They were keeping a watchful eye on a house in a smart residential part of the town since yesterday. Instructions issued to man a night surveillance shift starting at six in the evening. Two other plain-clothes police officers are doing the easier day shift. They parked twenty -five yards down the road from the front of the expensive looking property. Wilson was watching from the relative comfort of an unmarked blue Jaguar police car and his unfortunate junior colleague keeping watch on the back of the house.
Robert's was behind a small embankment running along the rear of the private estate. It was under the partial cover of a cluster of Silver Birch trees. The weather had been atrocious for many weeks.
Large parts of England endured the worst floods for over four centuries. Time and time again the homes flooded. Rivers burst their banks every few weeks, as one deluge followed another. Since Christmas this year it once again was the same old story. The heavens had opened for much of the last five months. The weather experts blamed increasing global warming. They were predicting worse in the future.
There were massive earthquakes, associated Tsunamis and volcanic eruptions in the past ten years. Some scientists were now challenging the global warming brigade. Mystics, religious maniacs and an assortment of other nut cases were claiming, as usual; that it was the imminent end of the world. No comfort to Paul Roberts. He had the unfortunate task of being out in the appalling conditions all the previous night and once again in the early part of this evening. Paul voiced his feelings earlier to Andrew Wilson and remarked.
Tonight he brought his mobile phone with a NOW TV application with him, on this wet Monday in early May just to listen to the football game. The rain seeping into his pockets through the storm flaps on his waxed cotton Barbour jacket. It shorted out his I-phone fifteen minutes after the match kicked off at eight o’clock. The wind was howling into his face, and despite his best efforts, it kept blowing his hood off. Paul's pampered hairstyle now ruined. Speaking to Wilson on his police radio handset, Paul said he was coming back around to the car for a couple of minutes, as he needed a coffee. Wilson replied.
‘Okay Paul, but only for a few minutes.’
Roberts got back into the Jaguar, explaining his predicament about the soaked and now useless mobile phone TV receiver. Wilson agreed he could listen to the game on the car radio for a short period while warming up with coffee.
Liverpool scored after only twenty-two minutes, much against the run of play from a free kick curled into the top corner of the net. It was just beyond the reach of the Manchester United goalkeeper’s fingertips. The crowd had gone wild. End to end fast-paced excitement ensued as the game got fired up after the goal. Attack after attack at one end followed by lightning counter-attacks to the other. Both teams were playing at their best; the quality was exceptional. The match commentator said it was the most exciting grudge match of the season.